Seven Wicked Nights (Turner #1.5)

His cousin grimaced. “You always did do things the right way. Besotted with your bride already!”


He closed his eyes. God, he needed a drink—and it wasn’t even noon. “You brought the ring?”

“Of course.” Jack had gone back to gazing lovingly at Hippolyta. “Got it from the jeweler yesterday.”

For a moment there, he’d been almost hopeful Jack would have forgotten it. Lost it. Wagered it away in a card game. The ring was a family heirloom, sent off to a London jeweler to be sized and cleaned. If Jack had forgotten it…. But the ring was here, so the wedding wouldn’t be delayed by the need to procure another one.

“Excellent,” Gareth murmured. “Are you headed up to the house?”

“Not yet.” Jack took out his handkerchief and reached up to polish another spot on the carriage. “Too many girls in white dresses, giggling like mad. I may spend the next week here in your stables.”

“I’ll send Withers out with some port and a blanket.”

Jack grinned. “Very sporting of you, Wessex.”

Gareth nodded and left. He turned away from the house; if Jack wasn’t going back, neither was he. There was nothing at the house but trial and temptation right now, as long as Helen and Cleo would be standing in the hall, the contrast between them sharpened by their proximity. He had to cure himself of this unwanted fascination. He was the Duke of Wessex. He’d had his pick of women in England and he’d chosen Helen. He wished he could return to that certainty that she was the one. He wished he could feel any sort of contentment about his rapidly approaching marriage to her. He would even be glad just to be less attracted to Cleo; then he would be able to persuade himself that all would work out right in the end, that he would come to care for Helen, that they would all be happy eventually.

Instead … all he felt was dread, growing stronger by the hour.





Chapter Six





WHEN THEY HAD BEEN AT KINGSTAG SEVERAL DAYS, Cleo decided to catch up on her correspondence. She’d been away from her shop for several days now, and although she’d left Mr. Mabry, her most trusted clerk, in charge, there were decisions only she could make. A packet of reports and letters had arrived from Mabry the previous day, and she needed to read them.

Reading them would also, she hoped, restore her sense. A week at Kingstag had been both wonderful and a trial. Wonderful, because it truly was the loveliest estate she’d ever seen, from the sprawling splendor of the house to the grounds that seemed to encompass every beauty to be found in England. The food was superb, the servants were well trained, and even the guests were interesting and pleasant for the most part.

And yet it was a trial, because everywhere she saw the duke. Just a glimpse of him across the dining room was enough to make her heart skip a beat. She told herself it was just the awe of meeting a duke; she’d once been presented to a viscount, but nobility had been rare in her corner of the world before this week.

The correspondence, on the other hand, was her life—bills from the silk warehouses, requests from customers, and overdue accounts. A fortnight at Kingstag was an interlude, not a permanent change. She was very much out of place here and always would be.

She gathered her writing case and letters and set out in search of a quiet spot. It was too beautiful a day to remain indoors, bright and extremely warm. Thinking the lake might offer a secluded spot as well as some breeze, she headed down the shaded path along the side of the back lawn, pausing to marvel at the remains of the giant oak that lay beside the path. The trunk was charred black in places and looked as though it had been ripped from the ground. One of the men working to cut it up told her it had been hit by lightning a few days before. That must be the tree the duke had mentioned going to see when she met him in the garden. She was still shaking her head over it as she passed the path to the stables, when the one man she hoped to avoid stepped out in front of her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barrows.”

Just the sound of his voice made her heart jump. “Good morning,” she replied. “I was setting out to explore your magnificent estate a little, if I may.”

“You must treat it as your own home.” His eye dropped to the writing case she carried. “May I carry that for you?”

Oh dear. Cleo tried to smother the little frisson of anticipation that shot through her veins. He had clearly just come back from riding and was even more appealingly masculine in riding clothes than in his evening wear. “You must have a dozen things to do….”

He glanced over his shoulder down the path to the stables, where male voices could dimly be heard shouting “Huzzah!” “On the contrary. I would like nothing better than a bit of a walk. Unless, of course, you preferred to walk alone.”

He was her host. It was only polite to accept, which must explain why she accepted at once. “Not at all! I would be honored.” She surrendered the writing case with a smile.